Tag: slumlord

Sonya-Daemon wants a change o’fart.

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

Hell, Inc. CEO Satan temporarily banishes the daemon — once known as Midwestern slumlord Sonya Mare Smith Moran — to the land of the living, because she refused to stop stalking him in his basement C-Suite. He’s tired of hearing the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture squawking and pecking at his door.

The former president of The Poopy Groupies pays her favorite singer a visit hoping to sing a stinky doo-doo-et, however Bernadette Cacca has once again fallen asleep on the toilet while pooping. Despite her best efforts to make a direct-to-dream connection, Sonya fails to reach her subject because she is too busy farting in her sleep.

Ms. Moran then curses her former tenants who had reported her for false lease violations (cha-cha-cha), using every word in the book, however they all tune her out because the community room television is volume has been turned up to accommodate the hard-of-hearing. Duh.

Making one last ditch to stir up trouble, Sonya-Daemon appears at Sybil Kibble’s house, however she is not home, so Sonya instead cuts off her mother’s internet connection, tapping her toes anticipating a reaction.

“The web has tossed its darned cookies again,” JoAnn Kissane Kibble thinks aloud. “CeeCee, did you throw some nuts into the router again?” JoAnn asks her squirrel-buddy.

After clearing the router of chocolate chips and nuts, she switches her phone from a wi-fi connection to a cellular one, and types on Fakebook: “I can’t get online because the internet is down.” Then she starts crushing candy with her phone.

After Sonya-Daemon has used up her most recent free hall pass to planet Earth, she gets sucked back into the underworld.

“Hey Boss, can you make me 10 feet tall? I wanna be 10 feet tall! I wanna be 10 feet tall, just like I was when I sold you my soul!” the nitwit screams as she repeatedly jumps up and down, like a toddler who lost a kickball.

“I’ve tried startling people, I’ve tried inhabiting their dreams, stealing their cookies, nothing. Nobody even notices me!”

“Have you tried just shutting up?” Satan replies…“Now back to the call center. We need 1000 surveys completed every hour…”

“Woo-hoo!” Sonya un-ironically shrieks as she runs to her new cubicle in Hell, Inc.

Violated.

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Hear this story here:

Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/

“Hey Sonya, we’re having you for supper! Come with us!” Area 51 Prinicpal Instigator and Pain Tolerance Department Manager Dr. Jen Jenner tells the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and malignant narcadoodle Sonya Marie Smith Moran, who has been pecking back and forth with her cellmate, narc of the communal kind Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt.

“Hot Dawg!”

“No wieners or winners, just you for supper. Sonya, your hair is a rat’s nest. Violation! Clean your cage, there are bird turds everywhere, even in your water dish! Violation!”

“What? MY cage? YOU put me here!”


“Yes, this is your home now and you’re coming with us!”

“Knock it off!” Sonya says to the raptor-captors at Area 51.

“We can smell your bum-waste clear cross the High Desert. Violation! You freeloaders trash this place that your tax dollars pay for! Violation! Cha-cha-cha. Violation! Cha-cha-cha.” the guards scold the Midwestern scumlord and malignant narcissist as they read from the Code of Federal Regulations.

Sonya hisses at the guards surrounding Dr. Jenner, flaps her wings, taking a defensive stand.

“Violation! Haha. Alright, imma carve this turkey!”

The guards rush toward Ms. Moran, with chainsaw in tow, and yank the caged lady from her cell.

“Oh yum. I can’t wait for turkey dinner. I’ve had nothing but corn and corn-derivatives since I got here two years ago,” says her cellmate and fellow narcadoodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, as he rubs his hands together. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh b–“
“I’m a dang vulture, not a turkey, you stupid neckbeard!” Sonya screams as she gets hauled away to a deep, dark crevice hidden within the bowels of the dry lake known as Groom.

TO BE CONTINUED

Madwoman In Hell

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Kankakee slumlord and juggling clown Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant just completed her registration after waiting six weeks in line at Hell’s In-processing Department.

She checks her phone and cannot figure out why it has trouble connecting to the Internet.

“There’s no signal in Hell” a disembodied voice calls out.